Sunrise over Algiers

16 October 2015

On the morning of my 57^th birthday, I watched the sun rise over Algiers: a dazzling sliver of fuchsia – like the iridescent breast of a hummingbird – peeking through the irregular mountains of North Africa, shooting peachy hues onto the cliffs of Cabo Tinoso.

We had set off before dawn, from the ancient Roman city of Cartagena, now a small but polished tourist spot; where fisherman, vacationers and cruisers, like us, converge on shimmering marble streets lined with gucci shops and bistros.

The Mediterranean air was cool, and the hills of Cartagena shrouded in clouds, as we set off. In time, the land features faded into the mist. The setting was non-descript: we could have been anywhere in the world. And I have been. Tahiti, France, Argentina, Hawaii, El Salvador, Scotland, South Africa, Thailand, Tierra del Fuego ... the list goes on. I’ve traveled to a mind-boggling number of incredible places – not, perhaps, the life I planned, but the life that has unfolded before me, for which I am thankful.

AFTERNOON
The day progressed beautifully. After lunch and birthday cake – a chocolate tart – I napped on the trampoline in the emerging sun. I showered. I caught a fish – a smallish dorado, just the right size for dinner. Dolphins appeared, and we ran forward to watch the display, sitting at the bow in the afternoon sun; the boat scooting along at 9knots; the small pod of common dolphin racing our amas (they won) with one particular show-off jettisoning out of the water, landing sideways with a splash, over and over again.

I told Annie the only thing that could possibly make it better would be if a Navy Seal parachuted onboard with a case of chilled Veuve Cliquot. Naked. But all told I think it’s a pretty memorable day.